“Fuck me, shut the fuck up,” Cal entered the conversation, glaring at both Ryker and Devin. “Caked. Jesus. Seriously? Are we talkin’ about cakes?”
“Chloe, are you in the bathroom fucking that nice slice of man cake?”
“Sam told me as we were hanging up our coats that Bob was “baked like a fucking cake.” I really had to quote that one even though it has a swear.”
“Jesus, holy fuck,” Rivera murmured, coming to a quick halt and looking up at the tall, hulking, tattoo-sleeved Ryker. “Boy, what’d your Mama feed you growin’ up?” he asked. “Newborn babies,” Ryker answered, scowling down at Rivera.”
“Call her Betty Fucking Crocker, because the cake was so going to be worth the bake.”
“So what. I'd make up whatever I lacked in other ways. Quickly. Fast, fast. Gimme my cake. It was time to fuck.”